


first class, up in the sky

by thebetterbina



Series: a king's ransom [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Bottom Connor, Drama, F/M, Family Feels, Getting to Know Each Other, Heartbreak, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Mile High Club, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Hank Anderson, What Was I Thinking?, elijah likes getting pegged, literally connor crying about his ex, there's a lot of sex??, they literally have sex on a plane what else am i supposed to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18103925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebetterbina/pseuds/thebetterbina
Summary: “So are you going to tell me now?”If Connor wasn't screaming before he's sure as hell about to now— he finds himself squirming instead, but all that settles to do is move Hank's cock around, stirring his insides for Connor to give a weak little moan. Thick, burly fingers dig into his sides anchoring him down, no doubt going to leave a print but he's hardly in any state of mind to think more than a couple words at a time.“Shut up and fuck me first.”Alternative AU to "all the money in the world"— Connor is still rich but Hank is a pilot who doesn't get to see his son because custody battles are some shit.





	first class, up in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> unbetad, catch me with those mistakes
> 
> i also know nothing about the law other than my own experience so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Life with a Kamski was a constantly rotating carousel of decadence.

  
It was shopping sprees in LA, midnight jaunts to Havana in private jets, champagne tasting in the northeast region of France— and custom designer clothes, paired with delicate jewelry to adorn fingers, neck, wrist.

  
But occasionally, and Hank knew this better than anyone, that a Kamski— Connor, to be specific— could be ... _difficult_.

 

Ragged breathing fills the cabin, wet slap of rushed movement, aggressive thrusts coupled with breathy moans and rumbly groans. Just for a moment, Hank pauses, enough it has Connor complaining, snapping at him not to stop and very briefly does a flare of annoyance rush through him. His palm settles over the small of Connor’s back, going upwards and holding steady onto his neck and forcefully pushing _down_ — Connor crumbles down onto the table but he goes without protest, enough it has Hank chuckling when he resumes.

 

The pace is brutal, pistoning through the younger man and Hank takes at least a little glee watching Connor grab onto the edges of the table struggling for purchase. He’s flushed, blooming red and panting, high pitched whines through red bitten lips at every heavy thrust Hank puts into the movement that has his brown eyes go glassy. Hank doesn’t slow or stop, pounding into the willing ass that flutters around his girth like Connor was made to take dick.

 

“You’re such a fucking _brat_ , but you know that don’t you?”

 

Connor returns with a giggle, whimpering as Hank snakes a hand under him to pinch his nipple.

 

“Taking my cock like the slut you are every damn time.”

 

Hank watches Connor shiver under the dirty talk, shuddering with every movement and Hank knows when he comes close when the tight ring of muscles clamp down on his dick.

 

“ _Fuck_. Go on then, come. Come for me.”

 

It’s the only one command Connor follows, coming with a high pitched wail Hank is almost certain anyone nearby the craft would hear— ass tightening and body going slack as Hank struggles to maintain his own pace, determined to fuck Connor through his oversensitive lust haze but it’s a goal that remains short lived. He comes with a low growl, hunched over the brunette to bite at the exposed neck and have him squirm. It’s jerky movements that follow that, his seed a steady flow that fills Connor in heavy spurts.

 

“Get off me.”

 

The afterglow is pathetically short lived.

 

Like a well trained dog, Hank follows the order, pulling out his softening dick with a wet squelch with Connor still feeling the movement with his light tremors— Hank still itches to touch, to bite and mark, or at least to hold Connor closer but knows his position well enough to back off when demanded.

 

He tucks himself in his pants quickly enough, it’s happened more times than he can count now for anything awkward to linger in the air. He watches Connor botton himself up, all with his tousled hair and a red flush— a certain sharpness to his eyes that always returns after sex. Hank still prefers the fucked out look on Connor, glassy, unfocused eyes, moaning while getting dicked down or choking on his cock.

 

“The meeting should be done in an hour, if it goes over, book a hotel room.”

 

Hank isn’t given reprieve to think about those fantasies, it’s all business now. He straightens his tie along his collar, noting off the steady set of instructions Connor mouth’s off while tucking his shirt in. By the end of the list the both of them look just as they entered the craft, no trace of whatever happened— just like always.

 

“Oh— before I forget, pick up a new suit for me as well.”

 

“Yes, Mister Kamski.”

 

The conversation ends there, with the brunette ducking off and exciting the craft, he watches distantly as Connor enters the waiting car and is driven off without another word.

 

In the company of the quiet space, Hank runs fingers through his hair and sighs.

 

It’s going to be a long day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Title wise Hank is _meant_ to be the Kamski family’s personal pilot, but he’s almost definitely sure there’s a subtext somewhere in the contract that reads being a butler as well because none of the other pilots he knows do legwork for their bosses.

 

It’s not as if Hank was going to complain, a normal guy like him would’ve been stuck in Detroit for his whole life if it weren’t for his interest in aviation and piloting. And being a private pilot for the Kamskis was a job most people would claw for— while it was no secret working outside an airline meant a slightly unstable income, that didn’t apply at all to the trillion dollar worth family; with fortunes so deep it meant Hank could have a salary that kept his wallet fat and an expense account he’s pretty sure the family doesn’t bother keeping track of.

 

Still, Hank huffs at the fifth box being deposited in his arms, coupled with the multiple bags he’s almost beginning to feel like an underpaid assistant rather than pilot.

 

From somewhere in his back pocket his phone chimes, and iPhone X, way above his pay grade back when he was just a normal pilot trying to scrape by on his hours but simple luxuries like these become something normal. He nudges the bluetooth earpiece, hearing Connor’s voice filter through the call.

 

“ _I’m done_.”

 

“Ten minutes.”

 

“ _Hurry up. Pick me up a coffee on the way_.”

 

He notes the insistence in the tone, usually meaning the meeting went well but Connor was more than at least a little eager to leave. Hank returns a hum of affirmation before the line is cut. He sighs again, if he focuses too much he’ll end up paying attention to the creeping soreness along his arms. He’d already booked them into a hotel for the night, but truthfully it hadn’t been difficult— penthouse suits usually remained empty around this season and using the Kamski name was more than enough to send even the most uptight five star hotels on their backs. Benefits of the name.

 

The boxes fit cluttered in the back, it won’t matter anyways, barely anything is seen through the tinted windows of the Mercedes. He won’t be picking Connor up either, a part of him prays for the poor chauffeur set to attend to him for the day.

 

But Hank’s got his own worries.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There isn’t so much of a “hey, how are you” before Connor’s lips come crashing into his, nipping, playful little tongue rubbing along the edges of his own lips. Hank isn’t given much leeway, very briefly allowed to put down the black boxes of whatever before Connor practically climbs him. The entire thing is still bewildering, how he’d manage to somehow garner the sexual interest of the second oldest Kamski child is beyond him— he’s greying around the edges, while not exactly bad looking by conventional means, Hank was almost certain he’d be nothing compared to the supermodels Connor could reel in with his name alone.

 

“Fuck me.”

 

It’s the one request he never finds himself sighing to.

 

Hank stumbles forward onto the plush couch, the gaudy red a blaring contrast to the almost muted colours of the room, Connor lays sprawled across, parting legs in a way has Hank cursing under his breath. Connor wears nothing but a dress shirt in the privacy of the suite, and the seams of his uptight personality come undone as Hank parts the pale cheeks, showing off asshole slightly damp and leaking from whatever prep Connor had done to get this underway.

 

He fumbles to undo his belt, ashamedly hard from the moment Connor jumped him, it’s like a trained reaction now— Hank’s almost certain he qualifies as a Pavlovian dog at this point. Dick shooting up and hardening like he’s suddenly back to being twenty and eager to satisfy. Connor from below him complains, whining like a petulant child for Hank to move quicker.

 

His cock comes free from the restraints, and Hank isn’t given much time to push his pants out of the way before he pulls on Connor’s legs, sinking into the brunette with a single steady thrust, bottoming out until Connor’s voice is reduced to a satisfied sigh. Hank still waits patiently for the go ahead, he’s not small by any means— and he finds himself caring about Connor’s pleasure just as much as his own.

 

Connor grinds back down from where they stay connected, mewling his delight around the stretch and urging Hank on. He pulls out, all the way until the tip remains— relishing the hiss of the body below him before going _home_.

 

He supposes it’s the angle, but his dick just manages to hit the pleasure spot dead on if the arched back and rolled back eyes are anything to go by. Hank focuses on hitting the exact spot for his thrusts, almost taking too much excitement in the way confusion twists on pretty features and shrill little cry grows in volume. He has Connor in tears with his relentless thrusts, brunette clamping down his cries with shaky fingers that hold back his moans.

 

Hank is quick to pin both hands above his head, a single palm covering pretty delicate wrists. His free hand steadies Connor’s hips, making sure every jerk causes his toes to curl.

 

“I.” _Thrust_ . “Want.” _Thrust_ . “To.” _Thrust_ . “Hear.” _Thrust_. “You.”

 

Moments like these he’s glad at least Connor complies, loosening against the hold and instead submitting himself completely to the raging tidal wave of lust that seems to drown them each time.

 

Connor doesn’t last as long this time, eyes widening and tell tale tightening of him coming closer to the edge.

 

“Beg.”

 

“W-wha-” He watches the confusion settle over face.

 

“Beg for it.”

 

“Pl— _ah_ — please—”

 

“Can’t hear you sweetheart.”

 

“Please let me c-come— _nhg_!”

 

“Such a good boy. Go on them.”

 

With a little shriek he does, steady stripe that shoots and coats his own chest, steady chanting of yes through the orgasm. Hank keeps at his pace, savoring the sweet whimpers while he could and almost pulls his back for the last few heavy thrusts before he releases in Connor— the second load for today and he’s almost tempted to pass out on top of the brunette just to annoy him.

 

Instead they stay that way, connected, breathing evening out in the company of each other. It’s the longest Connor’s allowed him to stay after a session.

 

He’s almost worried when Connor doesn’t say anything after a minute, but a glance down and he’s met with a sight that he suddenly finds endearing. Blissed and passed out, the brunette’s chest rises with each steady breath. Body limp and god forbid how he’d manage to fall to such deep sleep with Hank’s dick still in him.

 

Gently he pulls himself away, taking precious few moments to watch the way his cum drips out of the fluttering puckered asshole. Something he’d savour if their relationship was anything than what they currently had. Instead, Hank takes to cleaning Connor up, warm towel brushed along the more intimate parts without the younger so much as stirring from the deep sleep. In these moments Connor actually becomes _cute_ , vulnerable instead of prideful lion he’s so used to seeing. Gently he carries the brunette over the main bed, head tucked under his chin with the younger muttering incomprehensible words that Hank only begins to understand when he moves away to leave the room.

 

“... don’t leave … please ...”

 

He pauses at the door, frowning, a brief flicker of worry courses through him but quickly dissipates.

 

“... Markus …”

 

It’s not in his position to care.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The second day comes, and with it the normal routine. They fly off in the morning, and that usually means Hank wakes up earlier to make sure the jet is ready following Connor’s schedule. It’s a cycle he’s entirely used to by now, especially when Connor slips into the cockpit and sinks down to ride Hank like there’s no tomorrow. Soft panting by his ear and breathy moans as he comes, tucking himself neatly back into his pants as if Hank hadn’t just blown another load into him.

 

He pretends to forget the name, whispered like a dirty secret in the quiet of the bedroom the night before.

 

By midday he’s entirely forgotten the whole affair.

 

They land in Detroit without a hitch, and Connor rattles off his schedule but doesn’t touch Hank— probably still content from their quick fuck in the morning to go sated a couple hours more. Connor reminds Hank of the evening dinner party, expecting Hank to be there even though Connor knows he’d much rather go off and do errands instead of stand around people with more money than they knew what to do with.

 

He doesn’t complain, simply nods and watches Connor leave. In the company of himself, Hank stretches, hoping at least he’d get some reprieve from having to stay for the whole event.

 

The quiet is short lived, it doesn't last for five minutes before Gavin pops his head in the jet.

 

Gavin was younger than Hank was but still a talented pilot enough he'd also managed to snag a deal with the Kamskis. As far as Hank knows, Gavin attends to the youngest of the brothers, but he uses the word 'attend’ about as loosely as he'd used to describe his relationship with Connor.

 

Though as far as Hank knows, Gavin was the one getting fucked.

 

“Dick still in one piece old man?”

 

“Fuck off Reed.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Evening comes around quicker than he expects, there’s exhaustion seeping into this bones from having to shoot Gavin away and the new list of demands from Connor— still, by seven he's suited up and ready to go.

 

The part is a birthday unsurprisingly, Amanda Kamski— headstrong wife of the deceased Mikolaj Kamski and mother to four adopted children. It's no real secret at this point, Amanda had raised the children as her own and loved them fiercely. All four of them returned that affection tenfold, and her birthdays were one of the only days all four siblings would be seen in the same room together

 

Hank has met all of them, sure he spends most of his time with Connor but on rare occasions when Connor doesn't have to travel anywhere for longer periods of time he'd be called on to fly another Kamski somewhere.

 

Elijah was the oldest of the brothers, head of the family with full reign on the family's assets and business. Media wrote him off as eccentric, Hank just thinks he's downright weird. It's overall bizarre to think about how he'd manage to get a fiancee— Chloe— most possibly simultaneously the most prettiest  and nicest lady he'd ever had the chance to meet. Alongside her overspeculative fiance they seemed like a quaint match, but Hank knows honest love when he sees it.

 

Connor was the second oldest, but unlike his older brother who had more eccentricities— Connor had almost regal ferocity to his personality, pretty to look at but with a bite much worse than any of his barks. Connor was also famed for his ability to talk anyone into anything, hence why he was sent overseas so often to close deals than Elijah opened up. Bringing back millions with an attitude that showed for it.

 

Silas was Connor's identical twin and the third child, mostly spent his time back in their home mansion in Detroit with the occasional trip but never as often it needed him to have his own pilot on call— as far as Hank knew he dealt with antiquities, rare items, managed the family auction house and hosted parties even millionaires would struggle to gain an invite to. His personality Hank could never quite put down but a loaded gun would be the best description, best to be admired from afar and out of the way of it's barrel.

 

Niles was the youngest of all the brothers but was undoubtedly the most physically feared, towering over most people with a gunmetal gaze that seemed to challenge everything it looked on. Niles followed after Elijah, learning the ropes in managing the business, more often than not from what Gavin describes Niles was an extension of Elijah's command, and even just physically seeing him alone was enough to have partners remember their place.

 

Though of all the Kamskis, it's without a doubt Amanda is the most feared.

 

Plenty point out all the boys had inherited some part of her, weather it be her regal lethality or downright terrifying glare— anyone looking to make deals with the Kamskis were always warned of the mother dragon that sat behind her young. Flaring fire at anyone who so much as thought to do harm to them. Just like everyone else, Hank is terrified of the woman.

 

He's never been on the receiving end of her anger, and quite frankly he doesn't ever want to be.

 

The party is as luxurious as any they've hosted, it's almost an unwritten rule that any Kamski party will be amazing. An array of international dishes prepared by a few namely chefs, an ice sculpture of a mythical dragon so realistic— Hank is reminded of those Game of Thrones Dragons— he has to do a double take to make sure he isn't mistaking the sheer size of the sculpture.

 

Guests from all manner of high society flit around the place, chattering in conversation he doesn't bother paying attention to, he's here mostly because of Connor— can't leave unless given the okay, but frankly Hank can't imagine himself leaving, mostly out of duty to the family and there's just a level of respect he holds for Mrs Kamski enough not to walk out on her birthday celebration. Still it doesn't stop him from feeling at least slightly restless, and tries not to think too hard on how relieved he feels when he sees Connor walking towards him.

 

Connor wears the suit like a second skin, head high just like the prideful creature no doubt Amanda made sure to teach him to be. A couple of strides and rather discreetly he passes Hank a small object, now Hank notices the slight flush the brunette has on his cheeks.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He finds himself asking the question, Connor doesn't reply verbally but does give him an amused raise of a shaped eyebrow. Only after he walks away does Hank finally glance down to the object in this palm— it's small, like a flat egg with a dial right in the middle and on and off switch off to the side. The current dial being set on 1 and going all the way up to 10.

 

Curiously, Hank turns the dial all the way up.

 

“Oh my God! Mister Kamski, are you okay?”

 

His head snaps to where Connor had been stopped for a conversation, he watches Connor steadying himself in the arms of someone else and it takes a few seconds for the dots to connect but almost immediately when he does realize that it's in fact a remote to something he turns it back down. Watching Connor regain at least some normalcy back, casting Hank a knowing sideway glance, coy little smile on coquettish features.

 

This little _hussy_.

 

The night becomes a game then, suddenly _infinitely_ more interesting than whatever bleak boring dinner he imagined he'd have to power through. He hovers close to Connor, forces himself to be reeled into conversations his heart isn't really into when his dick is doing all the thinking. His hand remains laxed in his pocket, thumbing the remote idly and turning it up whenever he sees Connor having too much fun— taking petty joy in watching him get choked up and stutter, word going around Connor might not be feeling too well yet still makes himself seen at his mother's birthday. _Poor boy_ , they whisper, _but such a dutiful son_.

 

Oh, if only they knew.

 

It only becomes too much when Connor begins speaking to another couple that've reeled him into a conversation, Hank watches with interest the way Connor's arm cross— seemingly casual but for Hank it's a telltale sign of Connor become uncomfortable enough he has to intervene. The two males are clearly a couple, one, taller bronze skin with cropped hair, the other fairer with a tuft of blonde. Cautiously, Hank wanders closer to hear the conversation.

 

“We're glad you're looking well Connor.” The blonde starts, soft smile on otherwise unassuming features.

 

“We were worried you know? You went ghostly silent and then refuse to talk to anyone for months on end.” Hank notes the way there's a light chastise in the way the taller male speaks, well meaning but he doesn't miss the authority in the way the words are spoken.

 

“I … got busy. Work, you know. Elijah never lets me rest.” Connor returns, nervous laughter and clear discomfort with the entire situation evident.

 

“Well it wouldn't hurt if you just left a message or—” On more careful glance, Hank almost missed the striking heterochromia the male has. But the gentle awe is pushed aside when he here's Connor practically snap.

 

“— I said I was busy okay? Don't push it.”

 

“... listen to him Markus, he doesn't want be bothered.”

 

That name. _Markus_. And all of a sudden the pieces fall nicely into place.

 

“I'm sorry Connor, you know how he is. But really, we do miss you— especially North even though she'd never admit it.”

 

“... yeah. I know. Thanks for coming.”

 

He watches the blonde lead the other— Markus— away by the arm, casting a shaky smile towards Connor before walking away. Connor's shoulders visibly sag, Hank had long since stopped the vibrator and his half masted dick had died at Connor's attitude change.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Bathroom. Now.”

 

He knows that tone. A part of him feels like he should deny Connor this, should be putting his foot down instead of giving into whatever demands Connor barked that no doubt was a cover for some shitty past wound. Yet looking at him, gazing into those eyes of warm chocolate reflecting so much sadness— Hank is convinced Connor is one of the few weaknesses he has in this life.

 

Hank's no stranger to bathroom quickies by now, and considering how lavish the Kamski estate was it's no real surprise the bathrooms encompass the size of an average bedroom. Tiled floors, full length mirror, marbled countertop and ornately designed sink down to even the toilet handle. Once upon a time a Hank in the last would only considered how ridiculous everything was everytime he stepped in for a piss, but pushing Connor against the shined wall— rutting against him like a dog in heat— the bathrooms decor is the last thing he thinks to consider judging again.

 

“Fuck me, just fuck me already dammit.”

 

Connor hisses the words, desperate, like a man parched and screaming for a drop of water. Hank wastes no time hoisting Connor up, hooking lithe legs around his more burly figure as he worked to undo Connor's pants and his own. It's at least a little tricky but not unmanageable, thick fingers tugging on the wire with the main battery hooked on a garter around his inner thigh. Connor hisses a no, instead urging Hank to give him the remote.

 

He watches Connor set the dial up to a steady eight, drinks in the sight of the brunette giving a full body shudder and quickly beg Hank to enter him now.

 

At least part of Hank wonders just how dangerous this entire situation was, to be shoving his more than average dick into a tight hole with a vibrator— but any worry gets thrown right out the window when his breaches the ring, letting gravity do the work of sinking a moaning Connor down unt his sensitive head nudges the vibrating little nub.

 

The pleasure is intoxicating. Judging by just how blissed out Connor looked, it's a mutual feeling.

 

Moving however is new agony, every thrust brings him to touch the sex toy, and he has to measure his movements so he doesn't come right away. It's hard maintaining a collar on his release when all it does is rear. Shakily, Connor fucks himself back down on Hank's dick, the shock he chokes back with a grunt watching the little minx practically lose his mind with every movement. Hank notes, rather cutely, the drool, the glazed over haze in brown eyes softening them to something ethereal.

 

This time Connor doesn't need prompting to come, it arrives on its own in visceral shakes. His soft lips parted in an _o_ , little whimpers muffled by the kiss Hank immediately gibes. Connor shivers through his orgasm as spurts land between their suits, Hank not lasting long and following almost immediately after with one particularly harsh thrust that sends Connor reeling with a pitched cry.

 

Laboured breathing fills the silence, and the words escape his lips faster than he can stop them.

 

“So who were they?”

 

Perhaps it was the sex, enough to make usually uptight Connor loosen his tongue.

 

“Ex-fiancé and his new fiancé.”

 

Ouch. No wonder.

 

“Pathetic aren’t I? Getting jealous over an ex who never loved me to begin with.”

 

Hank knows danger territory when he sees it, slipping out of Connor and gently putting his feet down— only for Connor to sink down, slowly with his back against the wall, fingers tugging harshly on brown locks enough it has Hank wonder if he’s trying to tear his own skull out.

 

Then he hears the whimper.

 

It’s not like anything he’s used to, not the fucked out little whines— it’s the onset of sniffing, a tear streaked face Connor hides because something as simple crying was unheard of when it came to the stoic faced Kamskis. Hank ends up unsure what to do at this point, but he does what he always does when faced even with his crying son. Gently, much gentler than he’s ever treated the younger male, he wraps his arms around him, Cole always told him how much it felt like a warm blanket being put over himself. Warm, comforting embrace no doubt the brunette needed.

 

Connor doesn’t fight it, but he doesn't entirely reciprocate either. His little sobs go muffled, and it's only when a couple of minutes pass that the sounds finally stop.

 

“I— _sniff_ — hate this feeling.”

 

Hank remembers his ex-wife, her smug expression when she’d told him she was leaving and taking Cole with her. That her new husband had deeper pockets that he could ever hope to have and he wasn’t winning a custody battle anytime soon. It’s a memory he hates bringing up, but he does remember a time when he actually— wholeheartedly— loved the women from the very bottom of his heart.

 

He relates, at least a little to the feeling.

 

“Everyone does kid.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They pass the event without ever mentioning what happened, but this time Hank sticks a little closer to Connor and makes sure to steer him away everytime he catches a glimpse of Markus or— as he learns after managing to coax more out of the sulky brunette— Simon coming near. It’d been the first time in a year that he’d seen Connor come so undone from just seeing two people together.

 

He’d seen the boy take verbal daggers from the worst scum in the business world, so there’s no doubt that whatever happened was the knife to an old wound twisting around and making a mess of the scar.

 

The vibrator is kept in, Hank holds the remote and fiddles with the intensity every few minutes just to keep Connor distracted from whatever thoughts he had before. Sure, it makes him a little weak in the knees and flushed to the point it has people fussing over him but at least it keeps a smile and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

 

Hank only lets up when they get close to Amanda, her carefully poised head with a soft smile she only gives to her children. Her fingers, delicate with artfully manicured nails cup Connor’s face as worry seeps into her features.

 

“Oh, my poor boy, if you were sick you should have told me so.”

 

“I’m fine mother, how could I miss your birthday?”

 

She places a kiss, affectionate on his forehead.

 

“None of that now. Mr Anderson, kindly take my stubborn child to his room. I get the feeling I’m chastising a little boy again.”

 

Amanda doesn’t spare him a glance with the words, but her sight is fond and he watches Connor preen under the tender love, returning the kiss with one of his own to her cheek.

 

“I’ll be flying off again tomorrow mother.”

 

“Of course, I know how much Elijah loves keeping you busy.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You never tell me anything about yourself.”

 

That’s the first sentence Connor says to him when the sun rises, they’d gone another round the night before with the little vibrator set to ten and Connor screaming his name begging for his cum. It’s only after when Hank sets about to leaving that Connor asks him to stay, pats the empty side of the entirely opulent King sized bed with brown doe eyes looking up at Hank like a kicked puppy. They’d remain on each others side of the bed, Connor the first to fall asleep and Hank only after when he realized exhaustion wasn’t something he was intending to fight.

 

They wake up in a tangle of limbs, but Hank doesn’t find himself minding as much. Judging by how little Connor struggles, he feels the same.

 

“You never ask.”

 

“Well I’m asking now.”

 

That makes him laugh, low rumble of a chuckle like distant thunder. Connor curls a little closer, pressing against the body warmth with insistent prods against his exposed ribs.

 

“Ow. Okay— okay, what do you wanna know?”

 

“Why do you never ask for time off? I know you have a son but it seems like you never spend time with him.”

 

The question comes as a mild shock, but really it shouldn’t— he knows the Kamski paranoia and intense screening sessions every possible employee gets before they even have a chance to stand close to a member of the family. It feels prying, a little too personal, but Hank scrunches his face up to find the best way to give a short version of the depressing story.

 

“With the ex-wife. Her new husband was more than happy to file for full custody and I didn’t have the money back then to fight back.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. Besides, this job gives me the money I need to get back at them. I won’t see Cole for another year or so, but at least I know he isn’t in foster care.”

 

“Aren’t you worried?”

 

“Always. But Cole is a strong kid, and I made a promise to see him soon— can’t let myself get down just yet.”

 

Beside him, Connor goes quiet. Hank doesn’t think too much about it.

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

There’s a saying in his family, that a Roulette gun was infinitely more dangerous than a loaded one. It’s ridiculous in hindsight, a loaded gun gave certainty to death whereas a single loaded chamber tethered that line of unpredictability.

 

But that’s exactly what made it dangerous.

 

Connor plays into the risk almost on the daily, from the billion dollar business deals he closes with finality to the dirty sex he demands from Hank. One wrong word and he could botch a contract, one prying eye or whispered word and Hank would be fired and a new pilot to take his place. It's the uncertainty that keeps him alive, on his toes, blood pumping when he deals with a particularly difficult client and the best sex he’s rewarded with immediately after. Connor knows he’s good, too good, but if there’s anything Amanda had been strict on beating into him was to never underestimate, play naivety like a fiddle and to kill with a single fluid motion.

 

He loves her for those lessons.

 

He’d pushed his meeting to the evening, no doubt giving those businessmen in Europe a run for their money with how unexpected it was but there’s no urgency when he has some things he’d like to accomplish for the day. Hank doesn’t find it too weird, he’s done it more often than he can count to play into the desperation aspect of these money grabbing tycoons. He gives Hank a random list of things he doesn’t exactly plan for, tells Hank to take the rest of the day off when he’s finished. Hank gives him a curious raise of eyebrow but doesn’t say anything against it, simply accepts and goes off.

 

At least a portion of him finds it funny when it doesn’t take long to dig into Hank’s past. The file is on hand that he has for Hank details his education history down to his sperm count (which is surprisingly high for a man of his age) and of course doesn’t miss out his failed marriage; _Karen Hayes_ , formerly Karen Anderson. Married to _Paul Hayes_ — and if the universe was against him before, he suddenly finds an ally in the higher powers.

 

He doesn’t believe in God, the Kamskis aren’t exactly known for being particularly pious, but Connor’s almost willing to get down on his knees for something other than dick this time.

 

Being a Kamski meant certain things— access to the world's most expensive team of lawyers just happened to be one of them. Kara is, to this day, probably the most terrifying woman Connor knows, sweet when all things considered but absolutely ruthless in the courtroom. They’d met each other when Niles had, quite suddenly, brought her over and announced Kara to be the most brilliant upcoming lawyer that they should hire for their company.

 

People needed to understand that Niles, though just as brilliant as the rest of them when it came to ability, _hardly_ ever gave an opinion when it came to the family business.

 

Elijah had been more than happy to help finance Kara’s little sisters future— an angel named _Alice_ , who was absolutely adorable, besides the fact Amanda had always wanted a granddaughter— in return for Kara’s almost terrifying analytical abilities and skill in debate.

 

“So what do you think?”

 

“Hmn …” Her contemplative voice sounds over the video call, he watches Alice peek her head around to the camera view to give a cute little wave before tottering off.

 

“It’s actually pretty straight forward, usually courts would favor the mother but it’s entirely unheard of for one parent to be taking sole custody without visitation rights when the other parent doesn’t even have a dirty record to begin with. We’d be able to wrestle visitation first, then slowly from there if there’s any doubt that the mother is incapable of provided a safe, healthy home both physically and emotionally we’d be able to work that to our advantage.”

 

“So when do you think you could start working on it?”

 

Her laughter rings, like spring bells through the call. “Oh come on, asking so politely? All you need to say is jump and you can bet I’ll be asking how high.”

 

He returns with a smile, “Please.”

 

“Of course. Expect some hell to be loose around the afternoon. It won’t take them long to start getting shaken up when they find out who’s pushing for this.”

 

“Don’t mention my name, I want to keep myself anonymous for the time being. Just leave it as someone who wants to advocate for the rights of the child who deserves to see his father too.”

 

The grin Kara gives remains a little melancholic, “Look at you, you’ve got a good heart you know that? You’ve done so much for me and Alice and plenty of others. You deserve happiness too.”

 

“Thank you. Give my regards to Luther too.”

 

“Take care, Connor.”

 

“I will.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Despite what most television drama would portray about rich families, the Kamskis are almost a direct opposite. There’s no internal feud about who gets to be the head, no heir battles and scrabbling for money, no scheming lovers out to milk every penny from a naive family member. No, the Kamskis are a direct opposite for how deeply they felt about protecting each other— it’d been one of the many lessons the late head of the family and father, Mikolaj Kamski, and his wife Amanda had been careful on nurturing with their stubborn boys.

 

If Connor had to guess how they’d successfully done it he’d take it down to the fact that none of them ever had to question their self worth, each one of them knew to the bottom of their heart they had their own place in their parents heart and had only each other to count on when anything got too difficult to bear on their own. Like the time Connor got frequently picked on and Niles would immediately get into fights for him, or the time Elijah fell into depression and Silas had bought and built a mansion retreat for him just to go off and relax to escape the pressure of the heavy crown and mantle.

 

They were a good family, and as much as outsiders might try to interfere with that their bonds could, quite literally, never be so much as shaken.

 

“Oh. _Him_. That absolutely, dreadfully, boring executive.”

 

Elijah rolls his eyes, disinterest evident in his tone that goes bland.

 

“He’s married to Hank’s ex-wife. And the wife is using his money to keep the son from meeting him.”

 

“Ugh. Don’t they have better things to spend their money on? Like a house in the Bahamas or something? Why is everything about revenge or some petty retribution story.”

 

“Well, if you don’t like him that much and I need something from this entire arrangement …”

 

“ _Oh_ , you terribly evil little boy. When did my cute little brother get so devious?”

 

Elijah’s sigh is forlornly sarcastic, but Connor doesn’t miss the way a smile creeps on his features.

 

“Spoke too soon, he’s supposed to be coming in—”

 

They hear raps on the door, Chloe pokes her head in with a soft smile that widens when seeing Connor.

 

“Elijah, Mr Hayes is here to see you.”

 

“Send him in.”

 

Paul Hayes is as ratty as Connor imagines him to be, reminding Connor of his seedy old high school teachers he’s almost certain have restraining orders for their leering. He’s red faced when he enters, certainly angry about _something_.

 

“You.” He points a harsh finger in Connor’s direction. “Get me a coffee.”

 

The look Connor gives Elijah is incredulous at best, Elijah looking damn near close to a full blown body laughter with the way his shoulders shake.

 

“Do I look that poor Elijah?”

 

“It’s your hair. Dye it pink. That or maybe if you’d agree to the family photoshoot you wouldn’t be dealing with this sort of thing.”

 

Connor scowls at that, it’s not his fault most people have no idea what the other Kamski children look like— he’s been careful to hide his face from the media, and both his twins support the notion it’s just better not to have their faces known. Too annoying.

 

Paul Hayes still stands, a look of confusion quickly crawling through features at the familiarity of the tone they use with each other. Elijah takes a portion of the glee when he speaks again.

 

“Kindly refrain from speaking to my little brother that way Mr Hayes, don’t want people knowing you disrespected a Kamski so openly do you?”

 

Connor watches the way color runs, almost comically from the man’s face, going from red to pale in under a few seconds of processing the words. He blubbers stupidly like a fish, and it’s a pitiful sight to watch.

 

“Well those snobs in Europe are waiting for me, let me know when you actually do the thing.”

 

“Stay, like I said you spoke too soon— Mr Hayes, with the support of the entire board, we’re quietly letting you resign from your position.”

 

That’s entirely shocking news for Connor.

 

Hayes goes from deathly pale to white.

 

“W-what? W-was it because I spoke out of line? I’m sorry! I had no idea he was a Kamski and—”

 

“Mister Hayes you misunderstand me. You are resigning, _willingly_ , and the board has agreed to let you go.”

 

There’s a note of finality when Elijah speaks those words, ici winter eyes making his point known with thinly veiled glare of annoyance. It’s dangerous waters to tread when Elijah gets in those moods— one of the only bad things about his family being their infamously short temper and absolutely hating having to repeat or explain anything more than once.

 

Connor thinks he has the most patience of all.

 

(Hank would disagree.)

 

It’s only when blubbering fish is led out that Elijah let’s the cat out of the bag.

 

“Huh, I’m just surprised he thought he could get away with it.”

 

Elijah returns his comment with a simpering frown, “I’m more offended he even thought to try. I was tempted to make an example of him but that would be rather … archaic of me.”

 

“And here I thought you were an advocate of tradition.”

 

“ _Please_ , haven’t you seen my Red Room? Oh speaking about that, I also just ordered a new dildo, I found the perfect size and Chloe loves pegging me—”

 

“— for the love of my crumbling innocence, shut up.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Connor sees Hank again for his evening flight, Hank had practically cornered onto the seat, slotting their mouths together in a kiss that has him go weak in the knees. They part when Connor has to practically tug on Hank, reminding him they had to breathe.

 

“What did you do?”

 

Connor feigns ignorance.

 

“My ex-wife. She suddenly says she wants to talk about settling the divorce amicably. _Amicably_. She never uses that word.”

 

“I’m a Kamski.”

 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

 

“Your luck is good?”

 

“Bullshit. What did you do Connor.”

 

“Why do you assume it’s me?”

 

“Because it’s been less than a day since I’ve told you about my ex-wife and now suddenly I get a chance to see my son after lawyers had told me to give up fighting the case.”

 

Connor returns with a sniff, “Let me deal with the British first and I’ll explain later.”

 

Thankfully, Hank lets up. He probably has more to add but doesn’t push, it’s not as if Connor ever went back on his word anyways.

 

Though to tell the truth, Connor admits to himself he's really only biding time. There's no solid explanation he has for doing this, or even going so far, sure, there's the aspect of luck that Paul Hayes just happened to be caught about to embezzle funds and Elijah just down right hates the guy— but even Connor isn't so sure just losing his job would be enough to make the ex-wife cave. Hence, _pressure_ , judging by how quickly she'd responded he has no doubt Kara managed to spin a tale so woeful it'd force the ex-wife to give visitation.

 

Was it kindness? Maybe pity? Connor isn't so sure at this point.

 

All he knows his heart had tugged when he'd heard how Hank, good, kind Hank, hadn't even been given the decency of visitation with his own son. It made his blood boil, wondering just how petty a person had to be to go so far as to put a rift between a parent and child.

 

Those are the thoughts that swim around his head before he falls asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They land just as the sun rises, Connor's more than a little exhausted but he'd promised to show his face and he'd intended to get it over with. There's really nothing left otherwise for Hank to do, and it's the first time Connor leaves the jet without giving him a string of instructions— exhaustion perhaps, Hank looks as perplexed as Connor feels.

 

Part of him always wonders just why he agreed to do these business deals, there's a part of him that remains firm on the idea he's doing this because he's good— and he is, too good— but there remains another part of him that wonders what he'd do if he didn't have to jet set off everywhere to do things. What'd it be like to buy a house in Miami and just enjoy the beach and flirt with an endless string of good looking guys taking someone new to bed everyday. He had the funds for it, had a family willing enough to support him with whatever he wanted to do as long as he didn't get in jail or did drugs and promised to attend important gatherings.

 

But that part of him considers then that he wouldn't get to see Hank as often, Hank was their family pilot— not his personal Butler even though Connor made it seem that way more than once.

 

He couldn't ask Hank to stay with him either, he has a child, a cute boy from the photo Hank had shown him and it wasn't in his right to further drive him away from his only child.

 

That part of him is selfish, so he keeps it under wraps and goes about meetings without ever a complaint.

 

It's a morning conversation, Connor isn't really into the entire thing and ends it earlier than it should have— Elijah would probably call him later to give him an earful but overall the people weren't that important and the point is by the end both sides got what they wanted.

 

Both sides got what they wanted.

 

If only real life worked just the same.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So are you going to tell me now?”

 

If Connor wasn't screaming before he's sure as hell about to now— he finds himself squirming instead, but all that settles to do is move Hank's cock around, stirring his insides for Connor to give a weak little moan. Thick, burly fingers dig into his sides anchoring him down, no doubt going to leave a print but he's hardly in any state of mind to think more than a couple words at a time.

 

“Shut up and fuck me first.”

 

He finds himself hissing the words with more bite than intended, while Connor enjoys cock warming he also enjoys getting fucked stupid on a big dick.

 

“No.”

 

Connor sighs, relenting to the situation and opting instead to lean his back on Hank chest, his beard tickles along the side of Connor's face but if he's going to be cursed with being stretched around a thick girth for the entire duration of the conversation he'll settle for that kind of death. Hank doesn't let up his hold, likely to make sure Connor doesn't try to grind himself down and chase his own release and Connor tries to formulate his most coherent thoughts and push away insistent lust.

 

“Your ex-wife's husband works for the company. Elijah doesn't like him. Caught him doing something. Fired. Happy?”

 

Hank returns with a humm, biting along the expanse of his exposed neck.

 

“That doesn't explain why she's suddenly asking me to reconsider filing charges against her when I don't remember doing anything.”

 

“Family lawyer. Agreed to help. Please just fuck me now—”

 

“Nuh uh, doesn't answer my question. Why'd you do it.”

 

“Felt bad? I don't know, you deserve happiness too okay? Now are you going to fuck me because this conversation is making me—”

 

Hank slides his hands and hooks them under Connor’s knees, lifting and spreading him wider. Shamelessly putting Connor on display as he thrust upwards, balls smacking against his pert ass.

 

Connor _screams_.

 

Being self-consciousness was never quite something the Kamskis ever bothered teaching their children— self-awareness, certainly, enough to make sure their boys never dipped in the way people perceived them. When it came down to it, Connor always learned there wasn’t _and shouldn’t_ be any shame in whatever he did.

 

It’s hard to feel the same way when he’s bouncing on the pilot’s lap like some over enthusiastic cock-starved whore.

 

He throws his head back and moans at a particularly harsh thrust against his prostate, he sees stars and whines against Hank’s ear. He’s barely lucid to register another harsh bite along the dip of his collar, wet heavy tongue lapping along the new mark.

 

Connor would never publicly admit it, but his fascination with sex was borderline obsessive ever since meeting Hank— he blames the older man’s dick. Big, thick girth stretching him impossibly wide, a heavy weight that settled against _that_ particular sensitive bundles of nerve even without movement Connor was almost sure he could come from Hank just sticking is dick in.

 

They haven’t tried, Connor isn’t sure when he’s going to get comfortable enough to tell Hank he wants the man to rail him seven different ways to Sunday.

 

He comes entirely untouched, with Hank’s voice in his ear, hot breath and baritone deep. Smoke curling around his entire being and he feels himself surrender completely to the daze, his whole body seizes up— coming long and hard over the glass table with a drawn out wail. He goes slack against Hank, riding out the jolts through his body like jumping threads of electricity.

 

Connor doesn’t even complain when he feels Hank gently push him over the table, bodies still joined and Hank’s heavy cock in him thrusting lightly for him to whimper. He’s used to it by now, the only time Hank had ever come before Connor had been the first time they slept together— ever since then it became a game he lost with Hank finding ways to keep himself from blowing a load quicker. Connor lets himself be moved, weak arms barely holding his body up, curve of his back exposed and an appreciative murmur with a large paw stroking along his waist.

 

Hank pulls out, and rocks the impossible thickness back into him.

 

Connor can’t think in these moments, high off orgasm and post sex bliss, just takes every movement Hank gives with a pleased whine. String of incoherencies drool leaking from the side of his mouth all the while Hank continues with erratic rutting.

 

He thinks he likes Hank in these moments, nothing like the gentle man who could follow instructions better than any Harvard grad assistant. His deep voice, the look of concentrated pleasure as he sought his own release, words laced with nothing but appreciation and praise. By the end Hank was burying himself deep, cock pulsing as he emptied inside Connor.

 

Maybe one day he’ll tell Hank about his cum inflation kink.

 

The scent of sex remained heavy in the air as he pulled out with a wet pop, Connor could feel the cum dripping down his thighs, exhaustion seeping into his bones.

 

Hank goes about the after care routine as Connor drifts between consciousness and sleep, he feels the trace of gentle arms carrying him to the cooling duvet, the caressing wipe of warm cloth around his thighs, the ever tender kiss Hank has always pressed on his lips even as he steadily falls into a comforting slumber.

 

Connor’s never asked for the after care, his previous bed partners never seemed too bothered but Hank goes through the motions without fail, always when Connor ends up too bone tired to move.

 

He gently grasps onto Hank’s fingers, tugging softly and motioning to the empty side of the bed. Hank seems to hesitate a little, but eventually gently pries Connor’s fingers off and joins him. It’s the second time now they’ve slept together after a session, becoming more intimate as Connor finds himself curling up against the comforting warmth of the older man’s body.

 

Sleep is a comforting embrace that lulls him into quiet slumber.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes, with the large of Hank’s bicep curled around his smaller frame, Connor finds himself smiling up to bleary baby blue eyes that return with a sheepish grin.

 

“Morning stalker.”

 

“Mhm. Good morning to you too.”

 

It’s stupidly domestic, soft in ways that makes him ache.

 

His phone rings from somewhere, sharp and shrill it has him groan at the unwanted sound. Hank from beside him chuckles, like the saint he is gets up to help fish the crying thing from wherever it’d landed in the middle of their scuffle.

 

“The name says _Kara_ , you wanna take the call?”

 

Connor’s never been out of the bed faster, fingers pawing for the device that Hank only curiously hands over. Her voice is chipper as she speaks, no doubt good news, that or Alice just made another cute picture drawing.

 

“She gave in?”

 

“ _Even better. Agreeing to sign over immediate custody, I’m guessing this Mister Anderson isn’t checking his phone though— lady’s been acting crazy because she thinks he’s ignoring her._ ”

 

Connor scoffs, pulling the phone away with a palm over the receiver as he speaks to Hank. “You might want to check your messages.” If he has questions he doesn’t ask, instead nodding and moving to find his own phone in the aftermath of aggressively strewn clothes around the room. He returns to his call, a little more than pleased all things considered.

 

“ _She seems to think giving up the son will solve whatever financial situations she’s suddenly going through. Care to explain?_ ”

 

Connor bites back a laugh, of course, materialistic people fall so easily.

 

“No, it won’t change a damn thing but we don’t have to tell them that.”

 

“ _Well, if this is the story I’m working with, let’s get with it. Where is this Mister Anderson anyways?_ ” Connor glances at Hank, his face scrunched up in confusion the entire time he sifts through the plethora of messages the woman must have left him.

 

“With me, we’ll be back in Detroit this evening?”

 

“ _Woah, wait— he’s a business partner? I had no idea—_ ”

 

“He’s the pilot.”

 

Radio silence.

 

In the next second Kara’s laughter is heard by Hank.

 

“ _Connor! That’s scandalous!_ ”

 

“This literally isn’t the first time you’ve heard me sleep with someone.”

 

If Hank thinks something weird with the conversation he doesn’t show it.

 

“ _We’ll continue this when you get back, let me know when you arrive. Also Luthor says hi, and Alice wants you to attend her ballet recital next month. You think you can magic up some time?_ ”

 

“For her? Anything. Take care.”

 

“ _You too_.”

 

The call ends with a soft beep, but Hank’s voice is quick to follow up.

 

“That was the lawyer wasn’t it.”

 

Connor returns with a noncommittal noise, smile bitten back as he refuses to look at Hank.

 

“She wants to meet up. Agreeing to give up Cole after all this time of fighting and screaming, clawing tooth and nail to keep him and frame me as the bad guy. Connor, _what did you do_?”

 

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know how to explain that a child had no right being in the middle of petty greed and used as some kind of fucked up get out of jail free card for their sins. Doesn’t know how to tell Hank if he had the chance he’d rip the woman up and ruin her financially until she’d be forced off into the streets— living every day with the knowledge she’d lost a good man, her only child and any weak excuse of materialistic desires would never come into her hands again.

 

“I have strong opinions, let’s go home. Kara tells me she’s willing to bring Cole in today—”

 

“I’ll get the jet ready.”

 

He’s never really seen Hank so excited.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hank’s a bundle of energy the entire time, from take off to flight— it’s a cycle he’s used to but Connor finds himself being affected the same way. It’d been an utter miracle that a person could be so stupid to think just giving up a child would repair whatever anger or annoyance the husband had incurred from Elijah. When it came down to it, decisions were final and anything else was seen as a weak attempt for a chance at reprieve.

 

Connor doesn’t know how long that stupidity will last, he hopes Kara keeps her ignorant until they arrive. Hoping their luck holds out and she signs away full custody before realizing how irreversible the situation had become.

 

Lady Luck is a fickle mistress, but it’s no secret she favours the Kamskis.

 

By the time they land Hank is already barking orders for whoever was available to take over the jet, a little harsly enough it surely has some of the people unused to this side of Hank flinch a little but they follow through— he’s meant to be the one more eager and it clearly shows, all the twitch and wide focused eyes, drumming of fingers on his knee that Connor has to softly enclose with his own palm to stop the man from becoming a ticking bomb.

 

“It’s okay. Everything will go just as planned. I promise you.”

 

Hank visibly relaxes at those words, whispered softly even though Connor himself remains at least a little nervous. There’d been no update from Kara yet other than an address to head to as soon as he could, and the both of them remain reared despite the flight. Perks of not getting jet lagged despite how often the both of them ended up in the air and across international time zones.

 

“You think he’ll remember me?”

 

“Cole is nine, Hank. He isn’t an infant.”

 

It’s been a year, but Connor can say it with certainty when he remembers his own heart wrenching memories from those ages when he first got adopted into the family. Big events stay in a child's heart whether they realize it or not, losing a father as good as Hank would’ve been devastating without measure. His fingers tighten on Hank.

 

“ _Of course_ he’ll remember you”

 

They arrive to the designated location without so much of a hold up, he spots a stony faced Kara who barely holds back a smile at the sight of the family limousine driving up. He pulls his hand away from Hank, no real reason for him to be seen at this point.

 

“Just follow whatever she tells you to do.”

 

“You’re not coming?”

 

“I’ll see you later. There’s no reason for me to be here when it’ll make things complicated.”

 

The words fall into place, Hank understands the unspoken words.

 

“Thank you Connor, for this.”

 

Hank moves to take Connor’s more delicate fingertips to his lips, pressing a soft, chaste kiss on lithe digits. Connor flushes like a red flower, watching Hank slowly exit the vehicle and Connor making himself less seen from the tinted shadows.

 

“Where to now, Mister Kamski?”

 

“Back home please, Jerry.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The wait is intensely more agonising than the flight.

 

Minutes stretch onto hours with the clock ticking on, every passing second putting Connor on the edge as he awaits news— something, anything— to let him know the proceedings had been done and Cole was safe and that the Hayes would never bother Hank again.

 

His anxiety is too evident to his family who take heed and choose to let him pace and wear down the expensive rug, Chloe drops in occasionally to get him snacks. He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything since landing and his mother comes in briefly to berate him until Connor actually forces himself to sit down and have a sandwich.

 

He hears the voices before seeing the people.

 

“Woah! Everything’s so huge! Is that a tiger? Is it real? Everything’s so sparkly!”

 

“Keep ya voice down buddy, don’t wanna disturb anyone.”

 

“Oh! Sorry, shhhhhh—”

 

Connor rounds the corner and damn well near slips, in walking through the front doors was Hank— happy, grinning with that wicked full blown smile— and possibly one of the most sweetest looking boys Connor had ever seen. He’s seen the photos Hank had kept, but they’d never quite match up to the reality of the whole situation.

 

Cole is endless beaming, with baby blue eyes just like his dad that look like they might just pop right out of his sockets if he didn’t blink. It takes a while before the happy duo see Connor, standing there like a deer caught in the headlights. Hank has one of those looks on him, those honest softening of his features as he leans down and seems to whisper to Cole, pointing at Connor.

 

He feels a little self conscious, but that’s all shut away when Cole practically rushes up at him— small little arms wrapping around his legs and body at least a third of his height pressed tightly onto him. The hug is unexpected, but honest, and then Cole looks _up_ and Connor can practically _feel_ his heart shatter at how unbelievably sweet this boy looks.

 

“My dad says you helped take care of him when I was away, thank you mister!”

 

“You’re—” Oh, God, Connor feels the tears welling up. “— _hic_ — welcome?”

 

And then he has to go and outright start _crying_.

 

It’s strange, kids pick up the emotions of their surroundings so it’s no real surprise when Cole begins to cry, and then Hank gently embraces the both of both and starts crying too. It’s emotional, a little overwhelming, he’d heard so many of stories of Cole he’d begin to form an idea of the little boy that was Hank’s son. It’s an emotional rollercoaster just thinking he’d managed by sheer luck to even get to see this child and Connor feels the overwhelming sense of love he has for him.

 

“We’re looking so ugly in the foyer, I’m never going to live this down.”

 

In spite of that, Connor still jokes, wiping the tears and gently rubbing his sleeve on Cole who just begins to use that part of his shirt as a tissue to blow snot. It’s funny, endearing, and they laugh by the end of this strange little reunion even though Connor’s never met Cole and Cole just knows Connor from whatever short story he’d spun for him on their drive here.

 

“Is everything here yours mister?”

 

“Everything here belongs to the family, and therefore, belongs to you too.” Connor glances up at Hank as he says the next words, this time Hank’s turn to become embarrassingly red at the implication.

 

“Because you’re family.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I have a closet the size of a fucking 747 hanger and you really think I haven’t bought all of this yet? I told you, bring me the latest collection, not the ghost of Christmas past.”

 

Cole feels at least a little pity for the poor girl, watching her scurry off with glassy eyes, head hung with the other employees hovering almost hesitantly nearby. Connor remains seated, poised as ever even in his uncalled for fury, arms crossed and chin held like a demanding King unsatisfied with his meal. Beside him, Hank leans in to softly whisper.  
  
“Was it necessary to yell?”

 

Connor barely turns his head, casting a sideway glance before sharp gaze returns forward.

 

“It’s the third time I’ve had to ask for the same thing, and I already don’t like having to tell anyone twice.”

 

“Yeah but dad you’re acting like you own the place.”

 

Cole, from his corner, head peeking over the top of his console quips— the successful catch of Jirachi, cute little Pokemon hovering as the 3D projection let the little creature dance around the screen before he feels an affectionate hand resting over his head to ruffle already unruly hair.

 

“Well, _we do_ , considering how often we buy from them, we should act like it.”

 

Connor sniffs his reply, returning back to glowering at anyone who just happened to be unlucky enough to be within his line of sight

 

“Seems a little over the top. It’s just a suit—”

 

“— It’s _your_ suit and I refuse to see you in anything less than perfect.”

 

“Ugh, _dad_ , seriously— it's your wedding and you should be more worried about what uncle Silas bought in for entertainment.”

 

“Cole at this point I think it’s just better to let Connor do his own thing.” Hank replies, halfway thumbing through a maroon silk tie before putting down in favour of navy blue.

 

“Oh, come on. You too? Can’t you guys give them a break? Literally. They don’t get paid enough for this.”

 

His complains go drowned out by another set of barking orders from Connor, clearly on a warpath if those articles on Bridezillas was anything accurate to go by. Hank remains the idle statue, content to browing the endless aisle and offering up his slice when asked.

 

Cole just sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter and commission me there yeehaw [@therealconnor60](https://twitter.com/therealconnor60)


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